The theme of wealthy folks scheming to try and stay and stay rich continues with the unimaginatively titled Christmas Eve, also from 1947. This one from director Edwin L. Marin sees an eccentric old coot named Matilda (Ann Harding) try to locate her three extraordinary long-lost sons in time for Christmas Eve before her vast fortune reverts to her conniving nephew Philip (Reginald Denny).
This one is a bit weird, as it feels more like three or four very different films grafted together into one uneven whole. The narrative about Matilda frittering her fortune away, leading sneaky Philip to call in the lawyers to have her deemed unfit to run the estate is a framing device for three very tonally different stories about her boys. It’s done in an odd way, the tales told episodically, one after the other, rather than cutting between them and feels jarring. It’s not a clever ‘overlapping narratives,’ Pulp Fiction deal – it really feels like three different movies in one. I keep wondering why I’d seen Randolph Scott’s name in the credits when he still hasn’t shown up more than an hour in.
Michael (George Brent) is a dick-ish bankrupt, philandering playboy who we meet trying to scam a rich woman into marrying him – all while his mistress is still hiding in his hotel suite. Michael’s been cashing bad cheques all over town and Philip connives to keep him out of the picture by trying to pay his debts off for him in a segment that plays like a screwball comedy. Michael’s ducking and diving provide some laughs, but the character comes across as a bit of a bastard, despite Brent’s charming turn.
The film takes a big tonal swerve with Mario (George Raft)’s tale that sees him running a nightclub in South America, while tangling with gun-toting Nazis. This part is treated very seriously, with an action-packed shootout that sees his dame murdered. After the knockabout silliness of Michael's story, this bit, though mildly thrilling, feels like someone’s sat on the remote and changed the channel to an Indiana Jones type film populated with spies, double agents and explosions. It’s fun, but I’m left wondering what the heck’s going on.
Finally we meet Jonathan (Scott) who is, of all things, a rough and ready rodeo rider who, on his way home to his mama, gets mixed up with a flirty femme who turns out to be an undercover cop, getting him involved in a sting to take down a crooked orphanage. I’m not making this up. There are so many twists and turns in this segment that at times I’m really uncertain what the hell’s happening. At one point Jonathan agrees to pose as the cop’s husband to help her adopt a baby and thinks the best way to achieve this is to pull a gun on the orphanage owner. And this is before he knows he’s a baddie.
There’s a fair bit of drama before Jonathan swaggers out of there with three babies he’s claimed for himself, which the cops seem cool with. It’s absolute madness and more head-scratching than hilarious. Scott is fantastic though, looking like he’s having a hoot as this flirty, roughneck cowboy fish-out-of-water having an adventure in the big city.
Everything works out fine on a snowy Christmas Eve but I feel cheated that, for a film called Christmas Eve, there isn’t more of a nod to the festive season. The structure reminds me of the horror anthologies I’ve seen, but at least those films had a consistent tone. This one is all over the place and trying to keep up with it makes my brain hurt.
But – and this is a massive But – the film is never, ever boring and there’s nothing wrong with that. Filmmakers of the ‘40s evidently had more freedom to take crazy gambles and make weird stuff and I like that. I’d rather watch an interesting mess than a lot of the identikit mass-produced shiny product Hollywood churns out these days.
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